


Vast, Inescapable

by DefiantLoon



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Kink, NSFW, Overstimulation, Reylo - Freeform, reylohardkinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefiantLoon/pseuds/DefiantLoon
Summary: Kylo only wants to please touch-starved Rey until she can't move anymore. Rey, utterly overwhelmed by how he worships her, gives in to letting him pleasure her over and over and over again.





	Vast, Inescapable

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for submitted to fill this prompt from Reylohardkinks: https://reylohardkinks.tumblr.com/post/171767194551/rey-and-kylo-are-both-touch-starved-from-so-many
> 
> \-- Reposted from Tumblr, edited from OP to fix typos

The first time, it happens too fast for either of them to enjoy it quite as much as they want to. It seems to be only a couple of minutes before her legs tighten around the back of his neck, her hips bucking to rock herself against his tongue. Little noises she tries to muffle by covering her mouth. An airy sigh escapes her as she comes down from it, her back flattening against the cot again, muscles relaxing, her feet on his shoulders as she prepares to disentangle from him.

But he hooks his hands around her hips, pulls her in, and keeps going. For a moment she wonders if he doesn’t realize that she came. The thought skitters out of her mind when her whole body shudders, hyper-aware of his tongue against her now extra-sensitive clit. When she looks down she sees those dark eyes staring up at her– expectant, eager. He knows full well that she’s finished, but it’s not enough.

She’s about to protest, but the heat is rising in her again, surprising her with how quickly it begins to feel even better than before. All that comes out is a breathless, “Ben,” and she doesn’t feel entirely in control of herself when she falls back onto the cot and grips the sheets around her. Her hips seem to move without her now, as if she were taking part in a primal ritual and her body knew what it wanted without her mind’s input. He can feel through the bond that she’s flustered; enjoying it, yet intimidated by just how much. She feels how badly he wants to see it through the bond, and that only gets her closer. In the Force he is a warm presence, enveloping her mind, willing her to relax and let him take care of her.

One hand leaves her hip and slides slowly up over her stomach until it reaches her breast. She still tries to keep quiet, embarrassed by the lack of control, but it feels too good, and she’s never had someone want her so badly. His thumb brushes over her nipple in a way that she just barely feels, and she can’t stop the moan fast enough. He moans back against her, drawing out his strokes to watch her body react. He has felt her loneliness– how long she has wanted to be held, to be touched lovingly– and in turn he feels how much each touch effects her. He wishes he could touch her forever, until she is sated, and then over-sated, and then more.

Her hands reach down and her fingers snake through his hair. She takes tufts of it in her fists and he moans against her again, desperate for touch himself, appreciating every small gesture. She could dig her nails into him and draw blood, and he’d be grateful for it.

The second orgasm is violent, her body absolutely taken by it, shuddering all over. Her mouth is open in a silent cry, with not enough breath to push the sound out of her. She collapses again, muscles fatigued, her legs shivering uncontrollably against his neck. His hand slips away from her chest, and for a moment she thinks he’s pulling away. She feels him looking at her, taking her in. He’s painfully hard and resisting the urge to stroke himself, watching her heaving chest, her parted lips, her rosy cheeks. But it’s not enough, not yet.

She barely has time to catch her breath before he pulls her toward him again. She yelps, more urgently this time, “Ben.”

He doesn’t slow, and she can’t stop shaking. The last coherent thought she has comes from the stream of feelings coming through their bond– he wants her to feel better than she’s ever felt, to be so content that she’ll never feel lonely again. He doesn’t want her to think, to worry, to fear. She can feel that even touching her now is not enough– he wants to simply melt into her and curl up inside her consciousness.

Then things go fuzzy. She can neither close her eyes nor keep them open; they simply stare at the ceiling, glazed, her body becoming a live wire of pure sensation and no thought. She’s so sore, and yet the one time he pulls back to adjust her legs around him, tears immediately well in her eyes and stream down her cheeks.

“Please,” someone says. “I can’t…”

He gets back to it like he’s been ordered, and whoever’s voice that was dissolves into a long, half-anguished, half-ecstatic sound that rings in her ears. Her body is completely limp, yet he digs his fingers into her hips, hungry to see it again. She isn’t sure how long it goes on this time, but when the next orgasm hits, she can’t even lift her head, though she can still feel the tears flowing freely. She knows by now that it’s not over, and she both does and doesn’t want it to be. His presence in her mind and in her feelings is more intense than anything she’s known before. She’s felt less overwhelmed looking down from the top of a massive ship’s skeleton. Kylo Ren’s focus on her is more like that feeling she would get when she looked up at the night sky– something impossibly vast and inescapable.

He pulls away again and so, so gently guides her legs off of his shoulders. She whines a little, turning her head to try and see him. His lips glisten, her wetness coating his chin. He wipes it off carelessly, then stands and lifts her, moving her until she is no longer over the edge of the bed. That touch alone sends a jolt through her. She tries to say something but nothing comes out, only short, almost pained breaths. She feels as though waiting for release has been a matter of centuries rather than seconds. He lays down beside her, propped up on one arm so he can look at her. Their eyes meet briefly, and through the blur of tears she wonders how she ever could have been so fortunate to find someone like this.

His free hand slides down her stomach and further, making her gasp as his fingers begin to work her. She thinks she manages to curse out loud, acutely aware of his stiff cock against her thigh. She throws a weak arm around his neck and burrows herself into him, her legs instinctively clenching around his now slick hand. Her moans are constant now, flowing out of her in an erratic rhythm, until eventually it becomes too much and the sounds turn into sobs. He leans in and kisses her neck, sweating and clumsy as his fingers work to please her. Each kiss is desperate but consoling, as if to tell her that she’ll have more soon, that he’s working on it, that he won’t keep her waiting long.

They both feel it, and his orgasm begins just after hers, amplifying their pleasure in endless feedback. She feels the warm liquid splash against her leg, but all she can do is pull him close and cry loudly against his neck, feeling both of their climaxes now, until finally, finally, there is nothing more she could possibly take. She falls from his neck and her head bounces against the cot. For a moment she thinks she might faint, her vision swimming, her lungs desperate for air. A moment passes and they can only hear each other breathing.

After a moment, she feels as though she’s floating. He lifts her up gently in his arms, as if she is as lighter than a leaf, and holds her tightly against him, whispering to her as she cries, “It’s okay…”

She wants to speak but knows she can’t. He already knows what she’s feeling, anyway. A sudden sense that she doesn’t deserve so much love, such idolization of her body and her wellbeing. He whispers still, “It’s okay….rest….it’s okay…”

They stay this way until, exhausted, her tears dry up and she’s snoring softly, her face more relaxed than he’s ever seen it. He lays her down on her side, and she doesn’t stir when he gets behind her and curls over her body like a protective shell, nuzzling into her neck and inhaling the smell of her hair until he joins her in the most peaceful sleep he’s had in ages.


End file.
